


The Week The Sassy Pose Came To Camelot

by magog_83



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9844334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/pseuds/magog_83
Summary: The one where Enid Blyton's 'Tales of Brave Adventure' prompted this extremely silly crack fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as a Christmas present for my fantastic beta [](http://vensre.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://vensre.livejournal.com/)**vensre**  , to say Merry Christmas and a big thank you for all their help and encouragement with my fanfiction this past year. God knows, it wouldn't be half so good without their input!
> 
> This was written after a conversation, many months ago, about my childhood introduction to Arthurian legend – namely Enid Blyton's amazing _Tales of Brave Adventure._
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000fg7w)  
>    
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _The Horn of Gondor was no match for the Giant Boy._  
> 
> 
> Unfortunately, this wonderful book contains some truly HILARIOUS 1960s illustrations that Ven found so amusing I was forced to steal them and use them to write this fic. The picture captions are my own (although all pictures are genuine) and Enid Blyton should not be blamed in any way. 

** The Week The Sassy Pose Came To Camelot. **

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/000045ge)

_The delegation returns._

It all started the first Monday after Advent. Most of the court had gathered, in full pomp, on the castle steps to greet the returning delegation to Mercia, led by Morgana, and really, Merlin thought, he should have known something was wrong the moment the cavalcade clattered into the courtyard and Morgana practically threw herself from her mount and announced she would be taking dinner and supper in her room, and to “for god’s sake send a servant with loose fitting clothing.” Unfortunately, Merlin was too distracted by Sir Edric’s lime green cloak. A cloak that was in fact so green it had completely overawed the townsfolk.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000597h)

_In a daring break from the prevailing styles, Sir Edric had chosen to wear a dress with his lime green cloak._

As such it took a lamentably long time (and Lady Laura swooning right off the bottom step) before he realised what Morgana might have been referring to.

Oh.

“Oh my goodness!” said Gwen from somewhere to his left, managing to sound both horrified and fascinated at the same time. “Those breeches are very… er, _snug.”_

‘Snug’ was one word Merlin might have used to describe them. ‘Positively indecent’ was another.

It was at that moment that the middle aged and rather rotund Lord Eliot dismounted right in front of Merlin and he was forced to add ‘traumatic’ to the list. It was at times like this that Merlin wished he was better at remembering his forgetting spells.

“Sire!” declared Lord Eliot, flinging his (yellow!) cloak back over one shoulder with a really quite unnecessary flourish and bowing. “We are returned!”

King Arthur looked to be temporarily incapable of speech so Merlin decided to step in. “Welcome home! The King is, er, _overcome_ at your safe return.” Lord Eliot tossed his head and Merlin floundered slightly, “I’m sure we’re all glad to see you back and looking so… so…” He looked helplessly at Gwen, who looked like she might be working on a forgetting spell herself.

“Oh!” said Gwen, taking a moment to catch up, “…looking so…well. All of you. I mean,” she stammered suddenly as Lord Eliot struck a dramatic pose as though to give her a better view, “not _all_ of _you_. I mean every one of you, not… Although I’m sure all of _you_ is looking very well as—” Merlin looked at her and she hastily stopped talking. But at Gwen’s familiar stammering another Knight had come forward from the group and, well, perhaps Merlin _could_ get used to this strange new fashion after all.

“Your Majesty, Merlin, my lady,” said Lancelot, bowing deeply and so flatteringly that several ladies began to fan themselves and Merlin’s brain disengaged long enough for him to let out what might, very possibly, have been a whimper.

Unfortunately for everyone, this seemed to be Arthur’s cue to stop gaping and start glaring (at Merlin) before he announced there would be an immediate debriefing in the throne room (there was an outbreak of sniggering and Arthur went a most un-Kingly red) and then sent Merlin off to do some Very Important Magical Research on the other side of the castle.

......

But despite the King’s best efforts it didn’t take long for the tale of the new fashions to spread throughout the town and Merlin was unsurprised to discover rather a crowd had gathered at the training field the following morning.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/00006h8a)

_It was hard to know what was attracting the crowds to Tuesday's training session._

The notable exception was Morgana, who’d taken one look and promptly taken Gwen off to hack some straw practice dummies to pieces in the lower fields. Merlin hadn’t quite decided what was more amusing – the enterprising hawkers who had taken advantage of the interest to sell hot pies and flagons of ale or wine to the excited spectators, or Arthur’s determination to pretend none of it was happening. Being the supportive advisor that he was, Merlin made sure to sit on the topmost rail of the fence skirting the field, armed with a pint of ale and a chicken pie, the better to wave happily at Arthur every time he stopped swinging his sword long enough to scowl at the crowd.

An hour, fourteen disarmed Knights and some impressive mace work later, Arthur exited the field – to precisely no-one’s admiration (Sir Leon was doing lunges).

“This is utterly ridiculous,” barked Arthur as he strode over to Merlin and completely blocked his view (he couldn’t even crane his neck because Arthur’s shield was in the way – but then Sir Marmaduke began lunging too and he decided he didn’t really want to). “It’s like I’m not even here!”

“Sorry?” said Merlin.

Arthur glared and then huffed and Merlin gave up on hoping Lancelot was about to join in the stretching (which would be the only redeeming feature of this whole debacle) and concentrated on patching up a royal ego instead. “Well I was watching,” he said, leaning forward from his perch and ruffling Arthur’s hair under the guise of adjusting his hauberk.

“You don’t have to pander to me,” muttered Arthur, sulkily.

Merlin smoothed down the collar of his shirt and said, soothingly, “I thought you were very impressive against Sir Roderick. Even Lancelot says he’s a hardy fighter.”

Arthur tried for a modest shrug, but didn’t quite manage it. “Yes well, I think his old hip injury is playing him up again.”

“Really?” said Merlin. They both turned to look and Merlin could see what he meant immediately. Poor Sir Roderick was clearly favouring his hip if the way he was standing was any indication, although his hearty laughter suggested he was, very admirably, smiling through the pain. Come to think of it, Sir Gareth wasn’t looking too comfortable either – but he had at least taken the sensible step of procuring a log on which to prop his injured leg as he conversed with the armourer and his boy.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/00007fk4)

_The log proved a lucky find in the otherwise treeless training grounds._

Merlin made a mental note to speak to Gaius about them both and turned his attention back to the King, “I’m sure you would have beaten him anyway.”

Arthur sniffed, “Of course I would.” Merlin resisted the urge to make a face. “These Knights have got a long way to go before they learn the proper focus and dedication required of a _true_ Knight. They need to be able to work harder, longer than anyone,” Arthur emphasised his speech by pointing at Merlin, who didn’t see what it had to do with him but nodded anyway, “They need to be able to fight _regardless_ of injuries,” Merlin nodded some more, “and,” finished Arthur impressively, “most importantly, without giving way to pointless distractions and the lure of the crowd.”

“I got you a pie,” said Merlin, when he thought he’d finally finished.

Arthur glared some more, “Were you even listening?”

“Not really,” said Merlin.

Arthur slumped against the fence, arms folded. Merlin waved the pie at him tantalisingly. “Is it mutton?” Arthur said grudgingly after a moment.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

“Very well then, give it here,” muttered the King.

And that was that.

......

Except that it wasn’t.

Merlin spoke to Gaius of course about Sir Roderick and Sir Gareth, and Gaius promised to send round some of his famed muscle tonic and to visit Sir Roderick personally, but by the time Merlin found himself in the Great Hall after supper he was beginning to wonder if perhaps there wasn’t something more to it. If anything, the snugly fitting breeches were getting worse (and they were already bad enough), Sir Edric was now sporting a purple half-cloak tossed back over one shoulder, and unless there had been a sudden outbreak of injuries over the last day and a half Merlin could see no reason for the bizarre and disturbing poses increasingly displayed by the members of the returning Mercian delegation. And quite honestly he couldn’t think of _anything_ that would cause Sir Laurence to fling his head back so violently every time he laughed.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/00008350)

_Merlin wondered if this was the terrible affliction Morgana had called 'Sass'._

“Is Sir Laurence all right?” he asked Morgana – who merely snorted and took another glass of wine off a passing footman, something Merlin didn’t find terribly helpful.

In the face of Morgana’s sudden fondness for alcohol, Merlin turned to the one person he could always rely on to be sensible in strange and disconcerting situations.

“Lancelot, have you spoken to—” Oh dear god. _“What is that??!”_ Merlin managed after he had stared, blinked twice and even tried pinching his arm, and he still hadn’t woken up to find it all a horrible dream (like the one with naked Uther, only slightly less traumatic and with marginally less flailing).

“What?” said Lancelot, looking somewhat self-conscious.

“That... that _thing!”_

“Oh,” said Lancelot, stroking the monstrosity slightly, “It’s a moustache.”

“I can see that!” said Merlin, hands on hips, “What is it doing on your face?”

“I’m growing it.”

Merlin took a shocked breath. _“Does Gwen know about this?”_

As it turned out, Gwen didn’t. Nor did she react well.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000911f)

_Lancelot hoped a dramatic entrance would help reconcile Guinevere to his experiment with facial hair._

.....

But if Merlin thought that snug breeches and Lancelot growing questionable facial hair was the worst that could happen, he was sorely mistaken. After a Wednesday morning spent consoling Gwen (“he says it’s _rakish”_ ) and a terrifying encounter with Sir Lucian who was apparently “experimenting with feathers” this “season” (whatever that meant) he hurried to the King’s chambers determined to alert him to what was clearly a terrible curse sweeping over the castle – flattering breeches be damned.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000atzq)

_In all his long life, there were some things Merlin would never be able to forget._

“Arthur!” he burst out as soon as he was inside, “There is something terrible and...” he faltered to a stop. There was a pause. Then, “What are you doing?”

Arthur moved back guiltily. “Nothing! I was just—”

“You were looking at yourself!” Merlin said accusingly.

Arthur’s face developed a slight red tinge as he answered, haughtily, “That’s generally what one does in a mirror, Merlin.”

“You were looking at your top lip!” Merlin went on, in a tone of deepest betrayal.

“No I wasn’t,” snapped Arthur.

“Yes you were – you were stroking it and everything – don’t think I didn’t see you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Arthur firmly, “I was merely checking the, er, fit of this new tunic.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Arthur just raised his eyebrows challengingly and he decided to let it pass – for now. “All right.” He promptly stole Arthur’s favourite chair. “We need to talk about this terrible curse over the castle.”

“What curse?” said Arthur, dusting a bit of fluff off of the shoulder of said tunic.

Merlin gaped at him. “What curse? THE curse, Arthur.” When Arthur just looked at him, Merlin waved his hand vaguely in a way that was supposed to indicate poor fashion choices, rakish moustaches and an outbreak of hearty, head-flinging laughter that must surely be causing long-term ligament damage.

“Honestly Merlin,” said the King airily, “I think you’re over-reacting. According to Lancelot, it’s all the fashion at King Elfric’s court.”

“All the—” gasped Merlin. “What happened to _‘no-one’s even looking at me’_ and being half-blinded by Lord Eliot in tights?”

Arthur scowled, “Well perhaps some of the fashions are a little unfortunate, but Camelot must keep up with the times, Merlin.” At that point Arthur turned just slightly in front of the mirror and frowned, as if unhappy with the comfortable fit of his breeches, and Merlin died a little inside.

“Ugh,” was about all he could manage to that before he dragged Arthur bodily away from the glass and privately vowed to put a tailor-repelling spell on the royal doorway.

.....

By Thursday it was clear the curse was spreading and spreading fast. The morning had not started well when Merlin had had to magic up a stretcher to bear an unconscious Sir Marmaduke to Gaius’s quarters after he had had a somewhat unfortunate encounter with Morgana on his return from patrol. Merlin had no idea what a _‘tude_ might be – but it seemed Morgana sure as hell hadn’t appreciated Sir Marmaduke ‘calling’ her on it.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000bcqs)

_Sir Marmaduke came to regret his criticism of the Lady Morgana's 'attitude'._

By the time Sir Marmaduke’s facial swelling had gone down, Merlin had been co-opted into helping Gwen console several members of the serving staff – one of whom had become quite hysterical after she had brought Sir Kevin the wrong drink and been told, quite inexplicably, to talk to his hand.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000c360)

_Unfortunately for everyone, Sir Kevin's Hand proved no more scintillating a conversationalist than Sir Kevin himself._

Merlin didn’t even know why anyone would _want_ to talk to a hand, especially when the owner of the hand was right there. It sounded suspiciously like sorcery to him (clearly all part of the Curse) so as soon as he could safely leave the weeping maid in Gwen’s capable hands he sought out his magic book and began looking for any kind of talking hand spell. But after two fruitless hours of searching, all he’d found were several mind reading spells (he bookmarked those), one for mind-bleach (he bookmarked that too) and one for the language of eyebrows (already bookmarked apparently).

It was as if the Curse wasn’t a Curse at all!

And one only had to look at Sir Lucian to know that _that_ could not be true.

.....

It all came to a head on the Friday morning. Merlin was fast asleep, drooling happily on Arthur’s pillow and dreaming of a World Without Facial Hair and Skin-Tight Breeches, when the door to the King’s chambers burst open with such force that Merlin nearly concussed himself on the bedpost as he woke, flailed wildly and finally fell off the mattress in a tangle of blankets.

“Do you mind?” snapped Arthur from the direction of the table as Morgana (of course it was Morgana) swept into the room.

“Arthur I have Seen!” she declared in a dramatic tone.

“How nice for you,” said Arthur irritably as he tried to retrieve the bits of his breakfast that he’d managed to ping halfway across the table in shock at her sudden appearance.

“I have Seen the Future!” Morgana went on, pointedly.

Arthur found his sausage and one of his slices of bread. “Oh good, is it going to snow next Tuesday?”

“Arthur, I’m serious!” Now Morgana sounded indignant.

“So am I,” said Arthur, “I want to go hunting.”

Merlin, who had very sensibly used this brief interlude to find his trousers, decided to intervene. “Perhaps we should listen, Arthur. You know Morgana would never have told you if it wasn’t important.”

Morgana looked pointedly at Arthur who huffed, sounding extremely put upon, (he’d just spotted his boiled egg on the floor) and then made a sweeping gesture, “Oh very well, _See_ then- or whatever it is you need to do.”

Ignoring his less than gracious invitation, Morgana moved across to the small side table, picking up Arthur’s washing bowl and carrying it back to the main table. “It is _your_ future I have Seen, Arthur.”

“Mine?” said Arthur, sounding slightly more interested – Merlin suspected this has something to do with his continued quest to find out which of them was going to go grey first.

Morgana didn’t answer, just leaned forward over the bowl and spoke a few, low words as Merlin wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled over, Arthur moving aside to make room for him as the three of them stared down into the now swirling water.

“Behold! What you will become,” said Morgana (and really, Merlin needed to talk to her about less being more on the dramatic speech front).

But right then his attention was claimed by the water that shifted, shimmered and finally coalesced into an image so awful that Merlin mentally made room for it in his list of Things He Would Need To Forget Once He Had Remembered His Forgetting Spell (just below naked Uther, but definitely after Lancelot and his facial hair).

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000drq3)

_The Vision._

“I knew it!” he hissed, once he had found his voice. “I knew you were looking at your top lip with intent!”

Arthur took a moment longer to find _his_ voice. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s that—”

“Arthur if you grow that thing I am never having sex with you again! And if you wear those tights...” Merlin left the threat unspoken.

Arthur scoffed, “Please. As if you would be able to resist me.”

Depressingly, there was some truth in that but Merlin wasn’t about to give up so easily. “I wouldn’t have to resist you if I wasn’t here!”

“What?” snapped the King. “Don’t be ridiculous Merlin.”

“You don’t see me in the vision, do you?” Merlin raised one eyebrow as Arthur looked worried and began searching the image, “Clearly I have left the Kingdom to join the tribe of the Clean Shaven and Baggy of Clothing and practice my magic _far away from you.”_

“I think that might be you,” said Arthur, pointing to a surly man with his arms folded in Merlin’s familiar place by the throne.

Merlin looked outraged. “That doesn’t even _look_ like me!”

Arthur looked sulky, “Well I don’t think _I_ look much like me either.”

“That’s because you’ve defaced yourself with that... that _thing,_ and someone who was evidently not me let you add tights and pointy shoes.”

“They’re round toed.”

“ _Pointy_ , Arthur.”

“Whatever, you still wouldn’t leave.”

“Actually,” broke in Morgana, “I’m afraid I’ve Seen that too.”

Both Merlin and Arthur turned towards her.

“He leaves me because of shoes?” said Arthur in disbelief, at exactly the same moment as Merlin gasped, “There’s a tribe of the Clean Shaven and Baggy of Clothing?”

“Not quite,” said Morgana. “Look for yourselves.”

And once again the three of them leaned forwards to look into the bowl as the water swirled again, breaking apart and re-forming – only this time leaving a lengthy and confused pause.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/magog_83/pic/0000e913)

_The Second Vision._

 

“I thought you said I’d be in this one?” said Merlin, after a moment, brow wrinkled.

Morgana threw Merlin a look of deepest sympathy, so he tried again, “No, really, where am I? Am I behind the old man?”

There was a sudden silence. This time, even more awful than the last one.

“Oh my god,” said Merlin in a strangled tone.

“Oh my GOD,” said Arthur in horror.

“I suppose that clears up the ‘who goes grey first’ debate,” said Morgana, philosophically.

“Right,” said Arthur decisively, searching for his crown which he’d discarded on his side table at some point the previous night. “Morgana, summon the Court.”

“At once,” said Morgana in relief.

“I’m wearing a carpet on my _face”_ said Merlin, who was quite honestly finding it hard to concentrate on anything else.

“Clearly we have all been cursed,” said Arthur, adjusting his crown to its most Kingly angle.

“And I’ve got a _sheet_ on my _head.”_

“You can’t even see your cheekbones properly,” went on Arthur, apparently oblivious to Merlin’s inner turmoil.

“And what the hell am I even _doing?_ Why’s that woman giving me a baby? Am I a midwife in the future?”

“For goodness sake Merlin, pull yourself together,” Arthur barked, finally noticing his Court Sorcerer’s small breakdown. “I shall halt this terrible curse at once!”

“There is no halting the curse,” wailed Merlin. “I’m going to grow a facial mat and deliver babies and you’re going to wear pointy shoes and grow a moustache and we’re both going to get rashes in unsightly places. Destiny hates me.”

At that point Merlin gave up completely and dropped his head onto the table top – before he briefly considered a spell for hairlessness, only then he would be bald too and _gods_ that was probably why he was wearing the sheet on his head in the future.

“I don’t remember Destiny saying anything about beards,” said Arthur grimly, casting one last look at the basin as if for courage, before he strode out to address his subjects.

.....

_The Annals of King Arthur._

_And so it was that in the eighth year of the reign of King Arthur the ‘fashions’ (though some called it ‘the curse’) of the Mercian Court and its disquieting effects were banned throughout Camelot, by order of the King – including, but not limited to, unsightly facial hair, lime green cloaks, tight breeches, pointy shoes and, at the entreaty of the Lady Morgana, a strange practice known as ‘Sass’ which was responsible for an outbreak of injuries, muscle-strains and supreme irritation on the part of both nobles and servants alike. It was at first the cause of much sadness – and several Knights were heard to exclaim “Whatever” and for a long while the Court Sorcerer worked hard to combat the sudden continuation of the ‘hand-talking’ curse. But at last peace prevailed throughout the land once more, and Camelot was forever after known as the Land of the Loose and Flattering Ensemble – under the wise and tasteful guidance of the Lady Morgana and the Lady Guinevere – ruled over by its wise and fair King, Arthur the Clean-Shaven and Round of Shoe, who was in all things guided by his Court Sorcerer, Merlin the Beardless and Always Right._

The End.


End file.
